"55"

Wow, another birthday. Me, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Nancy Sinatra. I don't look as good as Nancy, but so far I'm still beating Frank.

This one seems significant, if for no other reason that I can, at 55 years old, no longer lie to myself that I am one of the kids. The President is only a couple years older than me. The burden of the great potential is starting to dissolve into "if I'd only ..." The knees are starting to creak after so many years of use and abuse.

I had a grandfather (the one that I look like) who lived to be 94. If I make it as long as him (and I hope if I do I'm in better shape toward the end), then I'm just a little over halfway down the midway today. But, of course, I know that this is not likely to happen. My family history reads like a medical textbook and, after a sickly childhood, I can't expect that the miracles of modern science will extend my life all that far. Hell, the miracles of modern science have gotten me this far and that's miracles enough for any reasonable person.

So, I'm 55 today and life is okay. Last month, I got the preview - I woke up one morning with very bad allergies - my ears were blocked and I couldn't taste anything, I didn't have my glasses on, and the planar fascitis in my foot was acting up so I was doing my Walter Brennan imitation. Instant old age. Like I said - life is okay today. I've seen the future and it's very Shakespearean.

The trick, of course, is not to waste what you've been given at 55, or 25 for that matter. I've been too comfortable for the past few years. Time to get out on the ledge again and not waste what I've been given. I'm 55. I'm not dead yet. Time to prove it.

Comments

[gmoke]

Yeah, prove it.

Let's knock over a liquor store or go on a joy ride or how about impeaching Bush?

Anyway, happy B-day, you white-haired boy. Good to have you around.